The Diet of NY Times Bestsellers. And Other Secrets of Mediocre Fiction

I once harbored illusions of a sophisticated life full of glamor, high culture, trips to fabulous places where I would win the hearts of amazing people with my wit and charm. Or charm and wit. My delusions were non-specific. Actually, I take that back. They were specific enough to provide a clear picture of how I would look (thin, forever young, beautiful), how I would travel (first class), the kind of staff who would serve me (devoted, highly competent, without peer) and just about every other detail of my life (perfect).

Occasionally, it's necessary to take stock and see how my real life is measuring up to the fantasy. It's pretty safe to say that I still have a long way to go toward living that fabulous life. Oh, I'm working on it. The botox, devoted staff, travel, cultural activities and most everything else are still pretty dependent on another delusion - the one where I become a wealthy and famous author of best-selling fiction. (I'll pause here so you can finish laughing. You know that snorting is rather unbecoming, don't you?)

I have, though, taken one aspect of the fantasy by the reins and I'm steering that part of my life in the right direction.

I am losing weight. It is not a pretty process. It is not a perfect process. It is, however, working. I am motivated by a desire to live a long, healthy life, of course. I'm not entirely stupid. But I will be honest with you - I am also driven by the desire to look sleek and gorgeous (and airbrushed) in the dustjacket photo of my first novel that will rocket to Number 1 on the New York Times Bestseller List. (I never said I was attempting to write literature.)

If all goes well, that dustjacket cover photo and the obscene amounts of money I make from that first book and the rights to the movie will carry me through so that I can pound out more fiction while shoveling M&Ms into my mouth and sending nagging texts to The Spawn at their posh boarding schools. In between book tours and the necessary personal trainer appointments to get me back into shape for said tours, that is.

So how am I achieving this miraculous weight loss? Well, of course there is Mr. Phentermine and the good quack doctor who prescribes him, but let's just gloss on over that. The real strategy is a healthy diet and exercise. I'm reminded here of an old Lockhorns joke. There are some days when jumping to conclusions, stretching the truth and running my mouth are the only exercise I get, but still. I'm trying.

And that eating healthy thing? Well, it's, um, a good intention. I guess the truth is I've really cut back my calories. A lot. Like eliminating a big bowl of ice cream, a cheeseburger, fries and a generous slice of pie cutting back. I haven't calculated the calories I'm consuming, but I think it' somewhere between 1,200 and near starvation.

Let me show you a typical lunch.






But it's not all petulant dry salad green munching and string cheese mutilation. No, there is an occasional treat. Something sweet, creamy, chocolaty. Look - fruit is fruit. It is not a dessert. When I want sweet - bring me chocolate or tempt the wrath of.....wait. I think that might be the PMS talking. Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yes. A treat.

Cheap ass chocolate.

There will be plenty of time for $10,000 per ounce ultra-dark chocolate made from cocoa beans grown on sacred mountain tops by one-eyed harmonica players in Uruguay after the book sells, but for now, I'll take this "truffle." The package says it comes from Italy. It looks like something that came out of an animal's behind. Whatever. It's gone in one bite anyway......

Nifty, huh? I know it looks like a dollop of fresh muck, but it doesn't taste half bad.
Would I lie to you? Look at that face.
It's the face of a connoisseur of cheap ass chocolate, Hostess Ho Hos and Mountain Dew.

All photos are Lisa Golden originals.
Who else would indulge in this sort of jackassery on a weekday?